But it’s too late. With a victorious roar, Titus approaches her at a run, spearing her with his sword.
“Healers,” I shout, but the word is lost in the exultant cheers of the spectators surrounding us.
Leira is choking on her own blood. Titus pulls his sword free and she slumps to the ground. His hands are in the air and he waves his sword as the crowd screams for him.
The emperor smiles.
I launch to my feet. I’ll drag her to the healers myself if I have to.
“Arvelle.” Leon’s voice is low, his face pale. “Arvelle.” He catches my wrist. “It’s too late.”
A guard steps into the arena, wraps his hand around Leira’s limp arm, and drags her body toward the exit. The sand beneath her is bright red, clumped together …
Leon tugs on my wrist until I’m sitting once more. “Arvelle.”
He waits until I pull my gaze from the arena, where new sand is being spread over Leira’s blood.
Leon scans the spectators around us, but no one is paying any attention. When he leans close, his voice is so low, I can barely hear him.
“I’m going to get you out of here.”
I stare at him, and he attempts a reassuring smile. It sits on his craggy face like an ill-fitting mask and he immediately trades it for a frown.
“The only way to get you out of here is to kill Bran.”
“You know I can’t.”
“I can.” A muscle jumps in his jaw. “But first, I need to do some research.”
Hope stirs in my gut. “Research?”
He leans even closer, dropping his voice to the barest whisper. “I don’t know much about vampire bonds. But there’s a chance that killing Bran could kill anyone bonded to him as well. Newly turned vampires often die when their sires die. So we need to know you won’t suffer from any … repercussions.”
I don’t want him going up against a vampire as old and powerful as Bran. “Leon—”
“Tell your brothers to be prepared in case they need to run. If we succeed, they’ll need to flee before Elva learns Bran is dead.”
My heart jumps at the thought. Evren and Gerith are clever, and I know both of them will have been watching for any chance to escape.
I want Evren to be healed. But if I die here, both of my brothers will be at Elva’s mercy.
“Arvelle Dacien,” a voice calls. “Your turn.”
Leon gives me a gentle push in the back, and I stumble, tripping over my feet as we follow the enforcer back toward the stairs into the waiting area beneath the arena.
“Wait here,” the enforcer says, leaving us next to the elevator. The aether stones glow a deep purple, lighting up Leon’s face.
“Medical check,” someone sings out, and Axia hurries toward me. “Hello, Arvelle. May I?”
She doesn’t wait for permission, merely holds her hands a couple of inches from my sigil. Tingling pricks my skin as she sweeps her hands over my head, down my neck, across both shoulders. She hums, moving her hands over my torso, hips, then crouches, using that same sweeping motion down my legs. When she gets to my left ankle, she meets my eyes, and I know she can feel the grinding pain I’ve learned to ignore.
“I wouldn’t say you’re in perfect health,” she says after a long pause, “but you’re cleared to fight.”
I nod. “Thank you.” This little check isn’t because the emperor cares about our health. It’s to prevent any kind of cheating.
Nyrant appears, his expression harried. “Suppression cuff,” he snaps at one of the guards, who steps forward. I hold out my arm, and he clicks the cuff around my wrist.
Immediately, I feel … wrong. If this is the loss I feel when I have such little power, it must be torture for those who are truly powerful.
